


In the White

by mijeli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bickering, Digital Art, First Time, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Protectiveness, Snark, auror!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mijeli/pseuds/mijeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If not for the Minister being attacked in a raid, it might have made front page that Narcissa Malfoy had gone round the bend.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the White

**Author's Note:**

> This was a challenge to write, and much joy too. Written for the 2010 [hd_holidays](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com); what great times to have been part of it. Thank you, everyone, for reading! Your thoughts are always appreciated.

If not for the Minister being attacked in a raid, it might have made front page that Narcissa Malfoy had gone round the bend. 

As it was, Kingsley Shacklebolt – deaf to any comments on his hazardous lifestyle – was brought to St Mungo’s, and the series of thefts in wizarding London only made page four. Shop owners had reported minor thieving of fake jewellery, but the curious thing was that one of Britain’s richest widows was involved. 

Harry hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near Wiltshire ever again; it made him sick to the stomach that Kingsley picked him to investigate the matter.

“There might be more behind it,” said Kingsley, “and in that case I want _you_ to be there.”

Harry didn’t like it – there were other capable Aurors, like his best friend Ron, who had finished his training a year before Harry had and who would probably enjoy hunting down a Malfoy. Not that one should let him, but that was not the point.

Harry told the Minister to get well – who thanked him with a heartfelt “Get out of here!” – then he headed home. He’d be going to Wiltshire the next day.

 

++

 

“Potter.”

Draco Malfoy looked just like Harry remembered him: tall, thin, pale as a sheet and pointy where nobody was supposed to be. His hair was obviously growing out, but he was dressed impeccably as ever. There were dark shadows under his eyes. “I couldn’t care less what you want, so what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Those wards are pretty poor,” said Harry, squaring his shoulders. “Almost went down voluntarily.”

Malfoy sneered and placed both hands on the doorframe as though he had to keep Harry out by force. “Of course the Boy Wonder wouldn’t notice when he’s not welcome.”

Harry felt the old anger rise almost instantly. It had taken a bloody lot of willpower to come here – to a place that had been the backdrop of his nightmares for weeks. He hadn’t done it, against the better judgement of his intuition and pride, to deal with Malfoy’s antics.

“I don’t care whether I’m welcome,” he said. “There’s a suspected criminal in this house and I’m here to arrest her.”

Malfoy’s lips turned into a thin line. “Watch your mouth, Potter.” 

“Or what?” 

Harry had his wand out moments before Malfoy and pointed it at his chest. “There are witnesses, Malfoy. Step aside.”

It seemed as if Malfoy was fighting an inner battle, then something in his face changed just the slightest bit. He peered at Harry’s wand, but didn’t move. “False jewellery, Potter,” he said. “Have they degraded their Head Auror to third-class crimes?”

“Step aside, that’s an order.”

Malfoy squinted at him. “I’m not taking any fucking _orders_ from you.”

“Do you really want me to Stun you?”

“Fuck you!” Small pink blotches appeared on Malfoy’s cheekbones, not unlike the ones he sported at school when being humiliated. He didn’t back away an inch. “It was a bloody _fake necklace_ , for Merlin’s sake! I’ll pay for it.”

Harry couldn’t deny he was surprised. What exactly were these people playing at this time? “That’s not up to me,” he replied. “That’s not the first time it happened, either. I’m just here to figure out what’s going on.”

“Well, and I’m telling you,” said Malfoy through clenched teeth. “She’s – a bit confused, alright? She didn’t mean to take that worthless shit. It’s not like she couldn’t afford it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point.”

“Get off my grounds, Potter.”

It was then that Harry thought to see something, or someone, in the darkish corridor behind Malfoy. He recalled the staircase, the tiles and heavy carpets. Someone was definitely moving there.

“Mrs. Malfoy?” he called out instinctively, and he was surprised when Malfoy – who still had a wand aimed at his breastbone – shoved him backwards.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he hissed.

“Who is it, Draco darling?” twittered a voice, soft and light-hearted and sounding nothing like the terrified woman Harry remembered.

“No one,” Malfoy called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Harry. “Stay inside.”

“Don’t be rude, Draco,” his mother admonished, but she did as he told her, for Malfoy remained alone in the doorframe. The hall behind him was so dark that for a moment Harry thought his eyes had been tricked.

Only the Malfoys’ time to play tricks was over. Harry couldn’t even feel sorry for their social downfall – they had kept the Manor and the biggest part of their fortune. All they had lost was their social eminence.

And Lucius Malfoy his life, but Harry had no intention to even consider pity for him.

“Get out, Potter,” Malfoy repeated, and this time Harry thought he heard the faintest plea in his voice. Malfoy was still holding his wand, but too loosely to defend himself if need be. 

“That’s not the end of this,” Harry said and lowered his own wand. “And don’t even try to escape, there’s a Surveillance Charm on this place.”

Malfoy sneered. “No, really.” He cast one last, spiteful glance then disappeared back into the house and the door slammed shut. 

 

 

Harry reported the events to Kingsley later that day. Frustrating as they were, Harry was now certain that the Malfoys were not involved with Dark Magic this time – he’d cast the majority of Detection spells in his repertoire to be sure. Kingsley still wanted him to interrogate Narcissa, but that could wait until he had dealt with more urgent cases. 

Harry went back to his office, took care of the most important files on his desk, then left the Ministry on schedule and with a satisfactory sense of accomplishment. 

Upon arriving at Grimmauld Place, he was reminded of why he usually tried to work late: the house was so _empty_.

“Kreacher?”

The old elf fell asleep increasingly during the hours of the day – nothing Harry would blame him for, considering his remarkable age. Sirius’ old home had always been a quiet place, bordering on depressing, but at least it had been more alive when Ginny was still visiting. Often, when Harry came home from training, she’d be waiting for him on the couch, Quidditch magazine in her lap and freckled feet up on the cushions. 

“Master is calling, sir?” Kreacher crept out of the kitchen, bowing deeply. His hoarse voice sounded even cracklier from sleep. “Would Master be liking dinner?”

Harry took off his crimson overcoat and threw it over a chair. “That would be fantastic.” He didn’t mind preparing his own food, but having him work in the kitchen was the only way Kreacher would spend time in his company. It simply wasn’t in the nature of this house-elf to be a friend.

“Master will be enjoying Kreacher’s new dish,” promised the elf. He was limping lightly, as if trying to cover it up, and Harry briefly wondered how old Kreacher really was. He had no idea.

“I’m sure,” he replied. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

It was almost ten years since the war was over, and five years since Ginny had left. They had parted in peace, and Harry was honestly happy that she’d got back together with Dean Thomas, who appeared to give her everything Harry hadn’t. Judging by the general warmth with which he was still greeted by the Weasleys, his ex-girlfriend hadn’t ever complained about him.

Not long after she’d cleared the last of her belongings from Grimmauld Place (toothbrush, sleeping shirt, mundane things she’d left and forgot), Harry had admitted to himself that he would bring no more girls to his bedroom. The last of his doubts had been chased away by a lithe blond and his talented tongue mere weeks later.

Not that all of the Weasley family knew _that_ about Harry. He cringed at the memory of coming out to Ginny and Ron; they had taken it surprisingly well, but that had been a conversation he never wanted to have with Molly.

“Thanks,” Harry replied as he had finished his food – a purple soufflé tasting like carrots and cinnamon at first, later like foam rubber and beet. “It was … unique.”

The elf bowed and made an attempt to clear the table, but Harry waved him away. He Levitated the dirty dishes to the sink and cast a Self-washing Charm on them then took a beer out of the fridge. Kreacher was already swaying on his short feet, so Harry turned the lights in the kitchen off and closed the door behind him. He flopped down on the living room couch.

A few sips into his beer he pondered why he hadn’t found himself a shag in such a long time. He wasn’t exactly the type for one-offs, but there was only so long a man with a healthy sex drive could go without it. He missed the warmth, even if it was temporary.

To distract himself from any libido-inspiring thoughts, Harry let his mind stray back to Malfoy Manor. The older memories from the place still made his nape prickle, but today he had sensed weariness that overshadowed it. In the ten years since Voldemort’s defeat, he’d often wondered what Malfoy had been up to – probably out of habit. The _Prophet_ had spared a headline both for Lucius Malfoy’s death and Malfoy junior’s probation, but after those, it had got unusually quiet around the family. Harry still had Malfoy’s old hawthorn wand in a desk drawer, but could never bring himself to return it – to confront the circumstances in which he’d acquired it.

“Bugger,” he murmured, massaging his tense neck and grimacing at the pain that shot down his spine. He got up and stretched until his vertebrae popped. 

Malfoy had looked … tired, as though the weight of his youth finally hit home. Or was it for his mother?

Before going to bed, Harry sauntered into his study and filled in a search warrant. He hadn’t needed one in a while, but Malfoy would probably ask for it just to make his life harder. Only when he got to the bottom of the sheet, he remembered that the latest law reforms required for it to be signed by the Minister himself, and he groaned. He would _not_ bother Kingsley with this in his current condition. He’d push his luck – it had been cooperative in the past.

 

++

 

The second time he visited Malfoy Manor Harry noticed some work had been done on the wards. Nothing to keep out an Auror, but dismantling them took long enough for Harry to be in a foul mood once he arrived at the entrance door.

“Malfoy, you tosser!” he yelled. “Lack of cooperation increases punishment!”

Only when he threatened to blast down the door – something that on second thought he should’ve been doing all along – did Malfoy open. He looked exhausted like the day before, though this time his black shirt was in just as rumpled a state as his hair. As Harry gave him the once-over, Malfoy reached up and tried to smoothen it out.

“Was I not clear about my hospitality?” he snapped and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Or does your brain yet have to catch up?”

“I’m investigating on the Ministry’s behalf and you had better let me in.” Harry was holding his wand inside his pocket. He didn’t think Malfoy was stupid enough to physically attack an Auror, but who could be sure. “If you have nothing to hide, I’ll be gone in no time.”

Malfoy scowled. “Whether I have to _hide_ something or not, I don’t want you inside my house. What’s not to understand?”

“What you want doesn’t matter,” said Harry, “and it’s not like I haven’t been here before, is it?”

Malfoy made a step towards him, not quite threatening, but not hesitant either, and Harry noticed he smelled of smoke. “Before we continue this tiresome conversation, at least be professional enough to bring a search warrant,” Malfoy said quietly.

Harry groaned. “God, you’re such a pain in the arse.”

“I aim to please.”

“Fine,” Harry snorted, “I’ll bring the bloody warrant. This already cost more time than it’s worth.”

Malfoy looked triumphant as he stepped back. “My thoughts exactly.” His wrinkled shirt wasn’t buttoned up to the top and as he turned it revealed a patch of white skin. “Good day, Potter. Or not so good, I don’t care.”

Harry glared at him with what he hoped was disdain before he rolled his eyes and Disapparated. _Sorry, Kingsley_ , he thought as he left Wiltshire the second time without results. He should have bloody known that this wouldn’t be easy. 

 

++

 

At least no one was surprised at the course of events.

"It's Malfoy," said Ron, "wouldn't expect any less." He had gone into Magical Law Bureaucracy about two years ago, and the fact still made Harry’s mind boggle. Apparently, Hermione had rubbed off on her husband more than any of them had guessed - not that that was to be mentioned around Ron. According to him, he had just developed a sense for organisation one day. 

Which was something he’d never possessed and had no hope of ever acquiring, Harry thought as he looked down at Ron's desk with amazement. The only item that looked like it had abandoned its rightful place was a paperclip.

"Mate, what's your secret?"

Ron grinned and, with a swift hand movement, located a sheet in one of his drawers. "Routine, ‘s all." The tips of his ears turned red.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sure, don't share."

"Try keeping order for a week," Ron suggested. "Saves you so much time you never look back."

"I'll keep that in mind." 

When visiting hours at St Mungo’s came on, Harry Floo-called the reception and inquired about Kingsley’s recovery. The nurse in charge told him the Minister was coming along well enough to complain about being tied to the bed when the world needed protecting, and Harry felt relieved as he Apparated.

“You know,” Kingsley said as he’d signed the warrant, “I never thought I could love these so much.”

 

++

 

Harry dismantled the wards in no time and paused to be surprised that Malfoy hadn't at least tried to strengthen them. He walked up the path to the front door, with peacocks staring at him from both sides. They were impressive against the stark scenery of the Manor's autumnal gardens, but Harry couldn't bring himself to find them beautiful.

He was about to turn his head away from their piercing button eyes when he saw one of the birds backing away from a nearby tree, jerkily as if stung – and then Harry felt the magic, too.

His arm snapped up, but he wasn't fast enough and his wand flew from his hand.

"Fuck," he cursed, "you bloody _coward_!"

Malfoy stepped out from behind the tree, a Disillusionment Charm fading to reveal his slender form. On his face was the mother of all smug smiles.

"What a sight," he drawled. "Harry Potter can't counter his own favourite spell."

"Not if it's aimed at my back, you bastard." Harry was angrier than he'd been all week – in fact he was angrier than he'd been in a really long time. It wasn't even such a big deal, or at least shouldn't have been unexpected from Malfoy, the backstabbing arsehole. Nonetheless, anger was sizzling through his blood. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

“I told you I don’t want you here,” Malfoy replied coolly, stepping closer. He was toying with Harry's wand while his own was still directed at Harry, and the arrogance in his gesture made Harry’s skin prickle. He wanted to throttle the prat.

"And I told you I don't give a fuck."

Malfoy tsked softly. "Such bad manners. I'd watch my mouth if I were you, seeing that I have two wands, and you have ... none."

"Well, good you're not me, then." Harry narrowed his eyes and felt the adrenaline race through him as magic, channelled by years of Auror training and throbbing under his skin. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Both wands were torn from Malfoy's hands with such force it nearly knocked him over. His head flew back as though he'd been hit. When he had regained his balance, blood was gushing from his nose. Harry half-expected Malfoy to attack him, but the man just looked at him utterly dumbstruck. Then he slowly lifted a hand to his face and wiped at the blood; it left a crimson smear across his lips and cheek.

Harry took a deep breath, nerves still tingling from the rush of power. "I have a search warrant, by the way," he said as he put both wands in his pocket. "But I guess you forgot to ask."

"God," muttered Malfoy into his blood-stained hand, "I really hate you, Potter."

"Feeling's mutual," Harry said and made his way back to the path. The frightened peacocks had retreated to the far end of the grounds, huddled together in one big, colourful blob next to what looked like hopelessly neglected flower beds.

They walked up to the entrance of the Manor in tense silence. Harry wondered whether Malfoy's sudden acquiescence was due to actual cooperation or simply fear. He ruled out the latter pretty quickly; Malfoy was a coward and a backstabbing git, all right, but if there was one person he'd never backed down to, it was Harry.

In front of the door, Malfoy wordlessly held out a hand.

Harry frowned. "I think I'm keeping it for now. I have no death wish."

"The warrant, you idiot."

"Oh, right." Harry reached into his pocket then glanced up at Malfoy's face. He looked even paler than usual and the lower half of his face was stained with red. Harry rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake." When he raised his wand to Malfoy's face, the man almost jumped.

"Come off it," Harry snapped, though uncertain why Malfoy’s fear made him so angry. "I'm not you."

"How fortunate." Even with half his face smeared with blood, Malfoy managed to look arrogant. "The warrant, Potter. I don't need you to clean up."

"Fine, have it your way."

Malfoy read the papers - _studied_ them, in fact - with a look of complete concentration on his face. Just when worry started creeping in at the edges, a wisp of Malfoy's hair came loose from behind his ear and obscured his expression. It shone burning white in the autumn sun and struck Harry as the most distinct sight in the bleak surroundings.

When Malfoy looked up, there was defeat in his eyes that made Harry's insides churn. It sickeningly reminded him of a look they had shared ten years ago, in a Hogwarts bathroom.

"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy spat, "you win this time."

 

 

They went inside, Harry falling back as he was staring. The ugly images from his past were not, as he had presumed, woken by every object or every curve in the floor and balustrade. It was a house and nothing more. Sure, it had haunted his sleep with the horrors hosted in its walls. But how much of it could be left in the outworn wood and dull stone? The war was over, some people were dead and others had lived. He tried to see it for what it really was, not more of a threat than an empty stage.

Harry had his hand on an old-fashioned chest of drawers when he noticed Malfoy was no longer next to him. He turned and saw him a few steps ahead. "Afraid in the big old house?" Malfoy sneered, but seemed to note the wrong sound of his words at once. Even in the dimness of the entrance hall, Harry saw him blushing.

If not for the uncomfortable silence, Harry might not have heard it at all: a small voice, hesitant but clear as a bell. 

“Sweetheart?”

The word seemed absurd in the moment, fitting for neither Harry nor the tense cold man a few steps away from him. He made for the room the voice had come from at the same time Malfoy turned and ran for it. They knocked into each other and against hard wood.

"Hiding nothing, huh?" Harry panted, trying to shove Malfoy away with force. Malfoy wasn’t strong, but he had long, thin fingers that he'd locked around the door knob with all his might. Harry felt like a child as he grabbed Malfoy's hand and tried to pry it away.

"Get – off!" Malfoy kicked him in the shin. "This is violation of privacy!"

Pain throbbed up Harry’s leg and his hands felt hot from the friction. "I have a warrant."

"Is that all you bloody have to say - _I have a warrant_?"

"Get out of my way, Malfoy!"

Harry pulled Malfoy so hard he thought he might dislocate a few joints in his arms, but Malfoy kneed him in the crotch at the same time and they collided, both groaning in pain.

Faint stars were dancing behind his eyes when Harry realised he was from his thighs up pressed against Malfoy. Malfoy grew very still, his bony chest snug against Harry’s, and their faces close, too close together. Malfoy smelled of cologne and lemon shampoo and dried blood, and the scent did not at all repulse Harry like it should have.

He backed away, heart hammering. Malfoy was blushing furiously and avoided his eyes.

"You realise I have two wands,” Harry said and he heard his own voice shake.

Malfoy sneered. "Fuck off, Potter."

"As you wish. _Incarcerous!_ "

The moment the ropes shot from his wand, Harry noticed that he'd made a mistake - it felt wrong as they wrapped themselves around Malfoy's wrists and forced his hands together at his back. A feeling of disgust at himself spread in Harry's gut, but it was too late. Malfoy stopped his struggle against the bonds and looked up at Harry, his face a cold mask, but his eyes blazing with fury.

"Brave, Potter."

Harry put his wand back in his pocket. "You could have told me your mother was in there and saved yourself the trouble." 

"I could have done a lot of things." 

"That's true." Harry looked at him and the violent thudding of his heart subsided and gave way to a strange wistfulness. "I'm going in there now."

Malfoy glared at him. "Don't you dare upset her."

The door creaked when Harry pushed it open, and bright light immediately flooded the entrance hall. On a stool by the window sat Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in a robe so white it blurred with both her body and the light from the window. Her hair - just as white - was so long it almost reached the floor, and a chain of pearls starting from her lap wove itself endlessly around the room.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked carefully and stepped into the room. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy."

She raised her head and looked at him with an expression of pure joy. "Good day, young man. Have you seen my son?"

"Er, yes." Harry tried a smile himself. "He's right outside the room."

"Do send him in, then.” Harry wasn't surprised to find her capable of sounding pleasant and bossy at once. "He promised to do my hair before it's time."

"Time? For what, if you don't mind me asking?"

She pursed her lips, looking back down at her handiwork. At second look, Harry noticed it weren't merely pearls, but all kinds of stones and jewels, held together by what looked like delicate silver yarn. She wasn't using a wand, and he couldn't sense any foreign magic in the room.

"My wedding, of course. You're not one of the guests, then."

"I'm - your son's guest." Malfoy uttered a dry laugh in the corridor, but Narcissa didn’t seem to hear.

"Are you?" She smiled and picked another stone from the windowsill. "He does have strange tastes, sometimes — Don't tell him I said that." She chuckled quietly. "In that case, you're welcome. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn’t," Harry said. "Harry Potter."

Narcissa Malfoy looked up again, and even though her face was lined by age, her posture was that of a girl. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter. Send my son in, if you would be so kind."

"I - er, yes." Harry stepped back, remembering the things he wanted to, he _had_ to ask of this woman, and the possible consequences. He couldn't say a word.

Malfoy outside was leaned against the wall, not turning his head when Harry closed the door. Harry cast a swift nonverbal spell and the magical ropes released Malfoy’s wrists. He rubbed them, a scowl on his face, then pushed himself off the wall and went towards the sitting room.

“Wait,” said Harry. “I did nothing, did I? You owe me an explanation.”

“I owe you nothing.”

Malfoy hesitated and the air between them was thick, the floor still marred where once a heavy chandelier had crashed into it. Harry twirled his wand between his fingers. “And I have your wand.”

Uttering a resigned sigh and gesturing his agreement, Malfoy walked on. There was something special about the way he moved, graceful, but with a certain caution to every step. Malfoy was too thin, Harry thought, and that shouldn't have looked good - especially not in completely black clothes - but for some reason it did. He managed to look both vulnerable and untouchable. Harry felt like an oaf walking behind him.

As they arrived in the sitting room, Malfoy waved towards one of the large green armchairs. Harry rolled his eyes at the choice of colour, but fell into one and almost jumped as a house-elf appeared at his feet.

"Master Draco, sir, is wishing?"

"A pot of coffee for Mister Potter and me. You know just how strong."

"Knibbly knows, she does, master."

"Wonderful." 

Knibbly disappeared with a _pop_ and Malfoy dropped into an armchair opposite Harry, safely separated from him by a coffee table. A few moments later, a pot, two cups, and milk and sugar in tasteful kitchenware floated onto the table.

"Thanks, Knibbly. Potter, coffee?"

Still stunned by the way Malfoy treated his house-elf, Harry nodded. "Er, yes. Please."

Malfoy took a sip then reached for a flat and elegant metal box. Only when he lifted a lighter to his mouth, did Harry realise what he was doing.

"You smoke?"

"No, Potter, how did you get that idea?" A small flame sprang up and the end of the fag began glowing.

"And you're using a Muggle lighter."

"I never denied they have some useful inventions."

"No, you just wanted to kill them all personally."

Malfoy inhaled sharply, avoiding Harry's eyes, and when he released the smoke the tiniest glint of satisfaction spread on his tight face. He took another drag and relaxed back into his chair. Harry watched the smoke curl out from between Malfoy's lips, fascinated by the sight and for some reason no longer put off by the smell. It strangely fit.

Harry picked up his cup and eyed it sceptically.

“I’m not poisoning you,” said Malfoy, exasperated. “Though the idea is good. Really, you’re so pathetically easy to read.”

“You’re one to talk,” Harry retorted, casting a Detection spell. The coffee was indeed harmless. “Now, what is this all about? Why is your mother stealing fake jewellery from clearly _substandard_ dealers? And what’s with all the secrecy?”

Malfoy cradled his cup as though he was in Trelawney’s class, eyes fixed on the liquid sloshing against the porcelain. Ashes were tumbling from the end of his smoke, but he didn’t pay attention. “That’s a sucky job you have, Potter,” he told the cup. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Answer the question.”

“Which of them?” The skin of Malfoy’s cheeks tightened over his cheekbones as his mouth shaped a small ‘o’.

Harry took a sip from his coffee and felt like an invisible boot was kicking him out of his own skin. “Merlin, what do your elves put in there?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Caffeine. As they should.”

“A bloody lot of it, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but I’m not asking you.” Malfoy’s eyes glinted as they met Harry’s, and he held the gaze for long seconds before turning back to his cup.

Harry placed his arms on his knees. “What’s going on, Malfoy? The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’m out of here.”

“A lovely prospect.” Malfoy butted out his cigarette and lighted a second one.

“What’s wrong with her? What happened?” 

“What _happened_ what?”

Harry had to focus on staying calm. “You know as well as I do why Voldemort was in your house.”

Malfoy cringed and took a deep drag. “Is this the point where we blame the Death Eater? Fantastic.”

“Stop pitying yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“How long has she been like that?”

Malfoy shrugged. His shoulders looked as pointy as the rest of him. “Since my father died. I haven’t been taking notes.”

“And you haven’t done anything?”

“What do you think? Of course I’ve done something.”

“At the legal end of the spectrum?”

Malfoy ignored this. He extinguished the second fag in the ashtray and picked up his cup again. Harry eyed his own cup, then opted for another sip and felt it inflame his stomach with vigour. Malfoy’s insides were obviously made of steel.

“Look,” Harry said, “I know you won’t believe me, and maybe I don’t even believe myself, but I’m sorry she’s like that.” He looked intently at Malfoy’s face, trying to catch his eyes. “You know she saved my life.”

“I know,” Malfoy said quietly.

“You have to get her some help.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “This isn’t about you and me, you idiot.”

“I’m all the help she needs.” Malfoy crossed his arms and finally looked up at Harry, his eyes weary but determined. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

Harry shook his head. “She can’t carry on stealing her way across London. If she’s not herself, it’s your responsibility as her son to—“

“What do you suggest, Potter?” Malfoy snapped. “I can’t lock her at home. I can’t— It would mean the highest form of disrespect. You wouldn’t know about this, but that would be the worst I can do.”

_Pure-blood shit_ , Harry thought with a mixture of anger and amazement. Obviously, a mentally unstable person needed help and protection and wasn’t to wander cities on their own. But if there was a traditional family pattern annulling this logic in the wizarding world, he wouldn’t know about it. It was a world he’d learned to dislike, though never got to know.

“Is it getting worse?” he asked, cautiously and just slightly worried that Malfoy might lash out at him. 

Malfoy, though, only pulled his lips into a hard line. “I think her mind’s going back in time.”

“What?”

“She told you she was getting married, didn’t she?” Malfoy grimaced. “She’s been preparing her wedding for a few weeks now –“

“- which is when the thefts began,” mumbled Harry.

Malfoy nodded. “Before that, she didn’t acknowledge father’s death, either, but at least she knew that they _had_ been married already. And before that -” He hesitated. “She even remembered the war, she just didn’t know who lost.” The last word came out quiet and strangely choked and Malfoy quickly reached for the metal box again. Harry watched him open the clasp and take out another cigarette. His wrists were thin and his knuckles sharp against paper-white skin. His hands were shaking.

When he noticed Harry watching him, he sneered and rolled his eyes, if a little half-heartedly. "Can I have my wand back now?"

"Which one?" Harry asked, and only when he'd asked the question he realised what he’d said. 

Malfoy started, quickly covering it with a long drag. "Do I have more than one?"

"Actually, you do."

"Curious, that."

"It's not working so well, is it?" Harry took Malfoy's new wand from his pocket and held it up between them. "I remember you as a more interesting duel partner."

Malfoy looked at him as though trying to figure out whether he was serious. "What are you playing at, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I still have your wand, Malfoy. The one I took in seventh year."

"Stole shamelessly, you mean."

"I won it," Harry replied, but he was relieved that not both surviving Malfoys had lost their minds. Not that he'd thought Malfoy could forget the incident for just a second.

"And after ten years, you feel like returning it?" Malfoy blew out smoke, and only now Harry noticed the faint vanilla note in it. "How generous of you."

Harry felt sheepish. He had asked himself often enough why he didn’t return the wand to its rightful owner. "It didn't feel right to come here."

"Don't tell me it does now." 

"I don't know, I'm doing my job." Harry shrugged. "What do you do for a living?"

"Live off my parents' estate, obviously," said Malfoy, but it didn't sound like the truth - and as an Auror, Harry had developed an ability to read someone’s voice. "Not that it is any of your concern. What about my wand?"

"You'll get it back - if you do something about your mother's condition. I'll have to arrest her next time." It wasn't that bad to wait for another next time, Harry told himself. Sleeping on things helped a lot sometimes.

Malfoy accompanied him to the door – out of mistrust, not hospitality, Harry assumed – and carefully put down the wards. “That’ll last for three minutes, so you better get moving. I don’t want you locked in here.”

“No really, I’d love that.” Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy just gave him a strange look and disappeared back inside.

 

++

 

"Think that's for you, mate." Ron dropped a handful of witness reports on Harry's desk. When Harry leafed through them, he recognised the names.

"More robberies?"

"Not exactly." Ron fell into the chair on the other side of the desk. "The shop assistants have reported anonymous payments for the stolen items."

Harry looked up, frowning, then skimmed the pages for the dates: all reports had been made this and the previous day, between morning and late noon. His last visit to Malfoy Manor had been two days ago.

"You think it was him?" Ron asked, getting as comfortable in the cheap wooden chair as possible. Head Auror or not, Harry had never had the mind to invest in office furniture. 

"Malfoy?"

"Sure. Think anyone else would do the git a favour?" Whenever the Malfoys came up, a line appeared between Ron’s eyes and if Hermione was nearby, she'd quickly change the topic. It wasn't a talent of Harry's.

He spread the files on his already messy desk, successfully covering up the reports of marital quarrels that kept annoying him. "If he thinks that's the end of this, he's got a surprise coming on."

Ron chuckled dryly. "Bet he still thinks it's all about money."

Another look at the reports showed that Narcissa's crimes were, in fact, about anything but money: the sum of everything she'd stolen was about twenty Galleons - each shop owner’s individual loss much lower. However, someone needed to hammer it into Malfoy's brain that money couldn't buy it all; not your honour, not your innocence, not your peace of mind. He was supposed to get his mother help, not come up with flimsy deeds of redemption.

Harry got up, more than happy to escape his current schedule. "If someone shows up for me, can you take care of them?"

Ron stretched in the chair then got up. "Sure, mate. I’ll be so good they’ll want to make me the new Head Auror.”

As he raced through the emerald flames, Harry wondered in which drawer he'd put the hawthorn wand ten years ago.

 

++

 

To Harry's utter surprise, Narcissa Malfoy opened the door, clad in a white silk bathrobe and slippers. Her hair fell down her back in a tangled plait, but she smelled of flowers and the wrinkles on her face looked soft as if smoothed out by sleep. "Yes?" she asked in a polite tone.

"Hello," Harry said. "Is Mal- … Draco at home?"

She looked at him as though she hadn't listened. "Do I know you?"

Harry tried a winning smile. "We've met before. I'm Harry Potter." He held out his hand and she eyed it sceptically before raising an eyebrow in a manner way too reminiscent of Malfoy. Too late Harry noticed that he was supposed to kiss her hand, not shake it like a man's. Narcissa's eyes had wandered back to his face and were lingering where his scar was hidden by his fringe.

"I don't seem to remember," she said slowly. "My apologies. What was it you wanted, again?"

"I was wondering whether Draco is at home?"

Narcissa frowned. "Who?"

"Your son," said Harry, and his fingers tingled.

Narcissa's frown deepened and she looked positively affronted. "Now, now, sir, are you trying to offend me? I shall advise you not to."

"Er, no, I – What gave you the idea?”

Narcissa wrinkled her nose, "I'm getting married in two days, you see. No pure-blood should suffer the shame of being a bastard child." She pierced Harry with her steel-grey eyes. "So what are your concerns?"

Harry swallowed hard. The urge to touch his wand, just touch its wooden handle and let it soothe him, was overwhelming, but he let his hands hang limply as they were and attempted a smile. "I heard of your remarkable pearl crafts. I was wondering whether I could take a look at them?"

Narcissa's face lit up and was young and beautiful – similar to, as Harry presumed, what she'd looked like when she was a Black. She nodded and stepped back, then seemed to remember something. "I hope you'll forgive my untidy attire? I wasn't prepared for guests."

"Don't mind me," Harry said quickly, "you look fantastic." Before he could worry whether he'd said something inappropriate again, Narcissa had floated across the entrance hall and towards the room where he'd last seen her. She looked small and fragile with her naked ankles.

As Harry followed her, his mind was racing: was she suffering from a momentary stroke of confusion or had she actually forgotten she had a son? Was that the reason Malfoy wasn't home - had she thrown him out? Had he left to not upset her? Every idea caused waves of bitterness; Malfoy certainly deserved the shit people gave him these days, but he didn't deserve to lose his mother like this.

White light gushed from the room and pooled around their feet as Narcissa pushed the door open and turned to Harry. "It's nothing, really," she said with the modesty of a child that wants to be complimented more than anything. Her eyes were just like Malfoy's but with a juvenile glint that Draco had lost somewhere along the way.

"It's lovely," Harry said quietly. "Really lovely."

He stepped into the room. The never-ending string of jewellery covered most of the floor, slung in elegant circles and ovals and ending at the far end of the room, on Narcissa's stool. Pearls and stones glinted in the light, but only now Harry noticed they were all dark: none of them were white or gleaming like the light from the window. Like countless balls on chains, the pearls lay black and grey against each other.

"It’s for the wedding, but I've only begun today," Narcissa said with a proud smile, and Harry wondered how she could actually believe that. Just when he pondered that shrewdness might not have been one of Narcissa’s dominant qualities, he felt the unmistakeable rush of foreign magic. He knew who it was even before turning around.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Malfoy barked, wand aimed at Harry's chest.

Narcissa whirled around like a gust of cloud. "Lucius," she shrieked, "calm down, he's just a guest." When she reached out to touch Malfoy's arm, he backed away and almost stumbled. His eyes darted back and forth between Harry and his mother.

"What did she say?" he asked Harry, and his voice broke twice. "What did you tell her?"

Harry fought all reasonable thought, telling him to just disarm Malfoy. "Nothing." He kept Malfoy's gaze, silently imploring him to calm down. "I’m just interested in the pearls."

"Are you?" Malfoy's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "You think you're so brilliant, Potter."

"Lucius, please!" Narcissa stepped forward, bathrobe coming loose at her shoulder and her eyes on Malfoy with such love and devotion that Harry felt cold shivers run up his spine. The battle Malfoy fought against himself was plain upon his face - the wish to Stun his mother into oblivion, and the reluctance to do just that. His hand was shaking violently and Harry remembered the Astronomy Tower and a dying old man. He wasn't paralysed now.

Harry whipped out his own wand and aimed it at Narcissa. She was still looking at her son, mistaking him for her dead husband, when the Stunner hit her and her body crumpled.

The next thing he knew, Malfoy threw a curse at him.

Just barely ducking it, Harry fired back. Instantly he felt their clashing magic pierce his fingertips and burn up his forearm. The sensation dulled, but sparks kept flying as Malfoy fought like Harry had never seen him fight - ruthlessly, carelessly, all his focus on Harry as the centre of his world. Adrenaline coiled inside Harry's chest as their eyes met across the heat of curses and blast of items crashing around them. Only vaguely he heard the flying shards when the chandelier in the entrance hall crashed down, the cracking of wood as a doorframe snapped.

"I - fucking - hate you -," Malfoy yelled, every syllable another curse aimed at Harry and blasting off a part of the room. 

Harry felt both sweat and goosebumps break out as the chest of drawers behind him burst into flames. If this was hate, he had no idea why it felt so good. He looked at Malfoy, _stared_ at how his pale face reflected the flames and how his bright hair was dirty with soot. Malfoy looked hard, angry, but something about his countless edges was captivating – desperate like the Fiendfyre, or the wishes it had devoured – and Harry felt himself pulled in.

The force of it made him dizzy, and Malfoy missed none of it. With an evil glint to his eyes - the one he'd worn when taunting Harry at school - he waved his wand and the ropes that shot from it quickly wove themselves around Harry's wrists.

"Fucking prat," Harry hissed as his wand fell from his hand, heart not slowing down a bit. Malfoy approached him in swift strides and picked up the wand. But the moment he held it in his hand, the smug expression slipped off his face and gave way to astonishment. It was the hawthorn wand.

Malfoy looked straight at Harry. Both of them were breathing heavily.

"Congratulations," Harry said. "You won it back." Malfoy kept scrutinising his face as though an explanation was yet to come. Harry saw he had blond lashes and creases too deep for twenty-seven.

"How dare you," said Malfoy, very quietly and very close to Harry's face, "how dare you attack my mother?"

"So you wouldn't have to do it."

"And how the fuck is this any of your business?"

Harry didn't even blink. "It just is." 

Malfoy stared, once again the master of his old wand as the ropes kept cutting into Harry's flesh as if they knew exactly who had conjured them. His eyes wandered across Harry’s face, who had no idea what Malfoy was looking for.

"Release me." Harry frowned at him. "This is stupid."

"Oh yes? You mean, unless you do it?"

"No, that was stupid too."

Malfoy stepped even closer - how the fuck could he get even closer? - until the tip of his wand brushed Harry's face. "I could kill you now," he said in his school-boy voice and his eyes fell to Harry’s lips. "You could just burn up with this bloody cupboard."

Maybe it was the thrill of Malfoy's words, or how they clashed with the movement of his eyes that made Harry think of kissing him. Of closing what little distance was left between them, sealing their lips together and finding out whether Malfoy’s mouth was good only for spite and curses.

Harry leaned in, powerless against whatever drove him, and touched his nose to the side of Malfoy’s face. It turned into an awkward bump as Malfoy jumped a little, his stubble scratching along the bridge of Harry’s nose, and then they both froze in the moment. Harry smelled something fresh, probably expensive on Malfoy’s hair and skin, a nameless scent that conjured up a hundred pictures – the pain of his nose breaking, the thrill of catching his first Snitch. He’d known it for so long. 

Malfoy leaned into him – or did he imagine it? – and turned his head, and just when Harry thought, _we’re actually going to …_ , Malfoy backed away.

“Potter – what the fuck?”

Harry grinned; his heart was beating furiously. “What, did I get under your skin?”

Malfoy looked at him with almost scary intensity then sneered and crossed over to Narcissa, who was still lying on the floor. On the way, he waved his wand a few times and extinguished the fires.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to vanish the ropes – nothing happened. So there was truth about a wand’s loyalty to its true master. The thought made him smile, though he couldn’t have explained it.

Malfoy talked to Knibbly, presumably instructing her to take care of her mistress, and when the elf had Apparated them from the hall, Malfoy slumped against the doorframe and buried his face in his hands. He’d looked so angry and at once so utterly defeated, like he had no idea what to do next. And what _could_ you do in a situation like this? Just when Harry started wondering whether Malfoy was crying, he righted himself.

“What do you want?” 

Harry wriggled his shoulders. “I’d like you to take these off, for starters.”

Malfoy rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Can’t you just get out of my life?”

"You have to do something,” Harry said, ignoring his laments and walking up to him. His wrists were beginning to throb under the tight knots. Malfoy looked at Harry then wordlessly lifted his wand and the ropes disappeared.

"I need coffee," he said hoarsely. "Get lost, Potter."

 

 

Naturally, Harry didn't, and so he soon stood next to Malfoy on the Manor's porch, the smoke from Malfoy's cigarette drifting across the lawn and hovering lazily in mid-air. The days were short already and the sun was about to hit the ground. Malfoy brought a steaming cup to his lips as Harry rubbed his sore wrists.

"You paid the shops, didn't you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "What if I did?"

"That doesn't make it any better."

"Of course not." Malfoy's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "I never thought it would."

"I think you did." Harry turned his hands, examining the angry red lines across his pulse points. It had occurred to him to use a Healing Charm, but something had stopped him.

"I don't care what you think."

"Yes, you do."

Malfoy took a deep drag then tipped the ashes over the handrail. Harry watched him blow out the smoke, slowly as if savouring the taste. He didn't think there was much to savour, though.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "for your mother."

Malfoy huffed. "Don't you dare apologise to me, Potter."

"I didn't. This was for Narcissa."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Harry turned to him, frowning angrily. "Can’t you be serious for a fucking second?"

"No."

Harry watched this calm and cynical version of Malfoy that seemed to care about nothing - not death, not war, not his mother losing her mind upstairs. Only the occasional tremble of his smoking hands implied there was another side to him. "Even I can tell something’s not right with you, Malfoy. What is it?”

Malfoy turned his head, eyes wide and incredulous. "Are you actually inquiring about my well-being?"

"Actually, I am."

"Well, then what would you say if I told you there's always thunder in my head?" 

"I'd say, take it easy on that coffee."

Malfoy laughed, softly and very briefly, but Harry realised it was a startlingly nice sound. He hadn't thought Malfoy capable of it at all, but there he was, wanting to hear it again and yet again. Something was definitely very off about that. 

"I’m dealing, but I don’t know about her." Malfoy cast the cigarette butt across the lawn then vanished it. "Healers don't come for Death Eaters. Please don't act dumber than you are."

"Have you tried?" 

"And humiliated her? No."

"I know someone." Harry smiled triumphantly. "She's not like that." 

Malfoy looked at him, eyebrows raised farther than it should be humanly possible. "And I owe the Boy Wonder yet again."

"Another one of these comments and I'll change my mind.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows came back down and he smiled hesitantly. "Thanks." His face was peaceful now, some of his worry lines receding in the soft light of early evening. Draco Malfoy wasn't _handsome_ \- such a word was reserved for men like McLaggen, or Charlie Weasley, or that hazel-eyed bloke that had one night followed Harry home - but there was something difficult about his face that Harry wanted to see. Their almost-kiss outside Narcissa’s room came back to him and he blushed.

"I'll go look for her," Malfoy said, turning from the balustrade. He stopped in front of Harry, as if he meant to say something, but then hurried inside. 

Harry waited in the door to the sitting room for Malfoy to come back down and tell him where he could stick his investigation and that he’d better leave if he wanted to keep his bollocks. When Malfoy finally came down the stairs, his face was tired - even more so than it had been before - and his hair looked like he'd repeatedly run his hands through it. As he saw Harry, some of his power seemed to return to him and he walked over with purposeful strides.

"So?" Harry asked.

"So what?" Malfoy snapped. "She thinks she's fucking marrying me in two days! What could that possibly say about her condition?"

Harry unfolded his arms. "Calm down, Malfoy."

"The fuck I will!" Malfoy looked like he was about to push Harry against the wall. "This is your fault! Why do you have to keep coming here? Of course she'd snap seeing your ugly mug!"

"That's bloody stupid, and anyway she didn't even recognise me when I -"

"Oh, she didn't?" Now Malfoy did push him, followed shortly by whipping out his wand. "You don't think she'll always remember the Boy Who Lived? The boy who almost got us all killed and then bloody _saved_ us?" He snorted. "I have no idea what's going on in her mind, but she does know who you are."

Instinctively Harry took out his own wand, though he had no intention to use it. "So she remembers. And what?"

"Don't you get it?" Malfoy was dangerously close again. "You remind her of who lost the war."

"That's rubbish. You'd have lost much more if Voldemort had won." 

"Don't say his name!"

"Why not, he's _dead_!"

Somewhere behind him, Harry heard a bookshelf fall over and a cup skitter across what sounded like the coffee table. Malfoy didn't as much as blink.

"And I guess we should all have screamed with joy, according to you - right?"

"Well, yes!" Harry felt fury boil within him, reverberate in every nerve. "I thought you'd come to your senses in time. Or why did you even help us? Even ten years ago, you believed -"

"What, Potter?" Malfoy snapped. "Ten years ago, we were both about to die. I didn't believe in anything."

Harry caught Malfoy's wand arm; he didn't even put up a fight. His eyes betrayed him, being the same desperate eyes that had recognised Harry in the Manor, long ago, and had kept their secret.

"Stop," Harry murmured, "stop trying to prove something." He let go of Malfoy's arm and stepped up to him so close he could feel his body warmth. Malfoy's breath hitched, but he didn’t back away. When Harry slipped one hand into his hair, the hawthorn wand clattered to the floor.

They danced around each other, like they always did; only now the consequence seemed inevitable. The drumming of Harry's heart filled his head, just like Malfoy's scent and the sound of his harsh breathing. Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to Malfoy's jawbone, where he touched the faint stubble - so soft compared to his own - with the tip of his tongue. Malfoy's hands came up around Harry's waist and pressed into his flesh.

"Malfoy," Harry murmured, slipping his other hand along Malfoy's neck, and as if on cue Malfoy turned his head. His chin bumped into Harry's nose, but then their mouths were hovering above each other and Harry kissed him, holding tight and pushing him against the doorframe.

Malfoy made a small, but entirely unsurprised sound in the back of his throat and kissed back. _This is it_ , Harry thought, _I've gone completely mental._ All his senses zoomed in on the feel of Malfoy's lips, their texture and pressure and how they moved against Harry's with just as much fervour as he'd used on his curses. Malfoy parted his lips and touched Harry's tongue with his own. Harry ran his hands down Malfoy's chest, to the waistband of his trousers, and tugged at his shirt. He hesitated, awaiting permission, but Malfoy was quick to shove his leg between Harry's thighs.

The shirt came loose and easily gave way to Harry's searching hands. He slipped them beneath the hem, up along Malfoy's ribs and to his shoulder blades. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, except for where his sharp bones poked out. Malfoy unbuckled Harry's belt and Harry heard himself make a needy sound.

"Move," murmured Malfoy against his lips, “couch." His breath was hot in Harry's mouth and his fingers cool as they followed the line of hair beneath Harry's navel. Malfoy walked him backwards through the room. Harry felt the wave of his magic shortly before the door behind them snapped shut. It aroused him almost as much as the hand unbuttoning his jeans.

His thighs hit something that felt like a cushioned armrest and Harry broke the kiss for a questioning look. Malfoy smirked and gave him a push.

" _Oomph._ " Harry gasped as Malfoy landed on top of him. He snaked his hand back into Harry's pants and wrapped it around his cock and Harry whimpered. “ _Yes_." He kissed Malfoy's throat, that was so white and so available. None of the men he'd been with had ever smelled like that – like he could never get enough of it.

Harry fell back against the cushions – fancy French things, no doubt – and reached down to open Malfoy's fly. Pleasure whirled in his groin. Malfoy's face was crunched-up, framed by messy strands of blond hair, and Harry thought that he’d turned beautiful without even giving a warning. "Roll over," he panted, "can't move like that." Malfoy reluctantly abandoned the upper position, looking wonderfully wanton, and Harry was finally free to touch him.

"Oh – god."

The feel of their cocks against each other made stars explode behind Harry's eyes. He watched Malfoy squirm and arch beneath him, lips parted and face flushed. The sight made his heart race.

"Potter," Malfoy gasped, "Potter, I - I need -" 

He never said what he needed, but Harry thought he might have an idea. He increased the speed of his hand, movements slicked by pre-come. The wet sounds were obscene and arousing in the quiet elegance of the room. 

"Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes snapped open and held Harry's, intense like when they fought but now dark with lust. He grabbed Harry's face and pulled him in for a deep kiss that sent waves of pleasure through Harry's entire body. He came with Malfoy panting in his mouth, and only through white noise felt Malfoy's body tremble with the force of his own orgasm.

They were lying on the couch, panting heavily, Harry’s face in the crook of Malfoy’s neck and Malfoy’s arms draped loosely around Harry’s shoulders. The scent of sex was heavy in the air.

“What the hell was that?” Harry murmured. The semen cooling on his skin was uncomfortable to say the least, but he couldn’t be bothered to move just yet.

Malfoy breathed deeply. “That was us ruining my parents’ favourite settee.” When Harry raised his head, he found him smiling. “Don’t tell me this bothers you.”

“Not really, no.” Harry couldn’t help smiling back. It felt surreal. He dropped a few random kisses on Malfoy’s collarbone peeking out of his shirt; it was as strange as it was natural. Something familiar prickled along his crotch and belly when Malfoy performed a wandless Cleaning Spell.

“Why did you even need your wand back,” Harry murmured.

“Don’t try,” Malfoy said. “I can’t believe you kept it for ten bloody years.”

Harry shrugged against him. “Never sure what to expect from you.” He turned his head and even through his hopelessly smudged glasses, he caught a glimpse of grey. Malfoy blinked but didn’t look away.

“Get up, you’re crushing me.”

Harry did and then watched Malfoy tuck himself in and attempt to regain a respectable attire. He looked so thoroughly snogged that Harry wanted to pounce on him again.

“I’ll be with my mother now,” Malfoy said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s better if you leave.”

“Are you sure?” Harry straightened up himself, foregoing the hair – he’d given up on that long ago. “I can be discreet if I want.”

Malfoy snorted a laugh. “I’m sure.” He looked hesitant for a moment, and a little lost in the vastness of his own house. Then he looked at Harry and was his aloof self again. “I’ll – see you around, Potter,” he said and left the room, picking up his wand along the way. It was already quiet in the hall when Harry snapped out of his stupor and realised it was half past seven.

He turned in the door, taking in the mess they’d made without even trying – and the one they’d made deliberately. It made him smile. With two small movements of his wand, he righted the shelf and repaired the set of shattered cups. No need to give Knibbly a headache, too.

 

++

 

The next day, it all seemed like a dream. Harry was doing his best to focus on the papers piling up on his desk, and he even summoned the nerve to interview one of the shop owners and listen to her excited theories about the good Lord above. 

“I knew He wouldn’t let this happen! I knew there would be justice.”

Harry only felt slightly guilty for imagining what Malfoy would have to say about that.

Despite the surrealism of the previous day, Harry held his promise and Owled Luna right after he arrived at the office. Luna had, after a short affair with Magizoology, gone into Healer training and had finished her thesis four years ago. While she was still the oddball among her colleagues, her skill and ambitious research had gained her unquestioned respect. And, Harry knew, if someone wasn’t holding any grudges from the war, it was her. 

Luna was equally fast to reply, writing that she’d happily pay Narcissa Malfoy a visit and see what she could do. Since the country had been invaded by Griddlygooks, diseases like Narcissa’s appeared to be spreading.

Harry managed to get the last of the marital fights on his desk done – with two rather upsetting visits by spouses to be divorced – and felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. He also thanked again whichever Gods there were (or weren’t) for the fact that his and Ginny’s divorce had gone over so smoothly.

_Because there never was any fire_ , he thought, _or not enough._ The relationship with Ginny had always felt like friendship to him – deep, certainly, but without passion. He realised he shouldn’t compare her to Draco Malfoy, of all people, when it was already too late: the images of Malfoy Manor came back to him, burning wood and shattered kitchenware, and the way Malfoy’s body had felt against his own. They had been irrational and destructive, but the thought of stopping hadn’t occurred to either of them.

It was like it had always been with the two of them: intensity defying reason. Suddenly, the world would spin around them and nothing else would matter.

Harry sighed and filed the reports away. At least he didn’t have to interrogate Narcissa yet – he’d told the office about her condition, as had the _Prophet_. The Malfoy widow’s progressing lunacy had only made third page, the first two being dedicated to Minister Shacklebolt’s recovery, and Harry thought it was a bit of luck for everyone.

 

++

 

That evening, Narcissa was better, which meant she dedicated herself to her pearls. As the sky outside darkened, Malfoy pushed Harry up against the cellar door and dropped to his knees in front of him. It was messy and it took forever, but as Harry came down Malfoy’s throat, he almost blacked out.

“What’s down there now?” he asked, leaning against the cold wall. Malfoy looked defiant but didn’t move away.

“I don’t care.”

Narcissa had fallen asleep with her head on the window-sill, looking peaceful in her white nightgown. Harry noticed that the supply of pearls had decreased dramatically since last he looked, and he wondered whether they had another theft coming on. 

“Luna is free to come in three days.”

“Lovegood is your Healer? I don’t believe it.”

Harry looked at Malfoy sternly. “I think you will.” He didn’t know whether Malfoy was thinking of his cellar, too, and he didn’t ask. When Harry later swallowed Malfoy’s come, he thought it might have chased away some of the old bitterness.

 

++

 

“Muggles call it tinnitus.” Harry took a sip of his tea and savoured the rich taste. Knibbly was getting really good at this. “That noise in your head.”

Malfoy kept stirring his coffee, looking thoughtful. “They have a word for everything, don’t they?”

Harry shrugged. “They explain it with stress.”

“I’m not stressed.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Have you bribed Knibbly to cut back the caffeine?”

“Maybe?”

“Your invasion of privacy knows no bounds, Potter.” Malfoy made a disgusted face then drank it anyway. Next, as usual, he lit a cigarette. “Did Lovegood tell you that?”

“What?”

“About the ti- … the thunder.”

Harry grinned. “No, I figured that out all by myself.” 

Malfoy took a deep drag and released the smoke – smelling of cloves this time – in almost perfect rings. They dissipated above them. 

“I can’t believe she’s coming here.”

Harry looked at him. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. That’s something you don’t know.”

“She’s just a good person, I guess. Better than both of us.”

Malfoy laughed dryly. “Yeah, that I believe.”

“… You taste of smoke.”

“Is that a surprise?”

 

++

 

The day Luna had been scheduled to come she was busy with an emergency, but the following day, Harry Apparated both of them to Malfoy Manor. When he dismantled the wards without another thought, Luna gave him a peculiar look, but said nothing aside from, “I think it will be very beautiful here when it’s snowing.”

Malfoy greeted her stiffly, obviously embarrassed and unwilling to let it show. Luna smiled brightly even as her gaze drifted across the entrance hall and to the cellar door. She asked where Narcissa was and Malfoy showed her the room in which his mother kept threading pearls and jewels on a string.

“This is beautiful,” Luna remarked, and Malfoy stared at her. “Close the door, you two, will you?”

What exactly Luna did neither Harry nor Malfoy would ever find out, but when after hours of lukewarm coffee and anxious touches the door opened again, Narcissa was crying and clutching her tiara with white knuckles. 

She halted when she saw Malfoy and looked at him with such sadness that Harry felt something in his chest pull. He sensed Malfoy’s fear of losing control, but the man remained perfectly still. After long moments, Narcissa gripped her wide skirt and bolted up the stairs; they heard her sobbing muted like through a door.

Luna turned to Malfoy. “You should leave the door open,” she said, gesturing into the room full of pearls. “There’s so much light.”

“How is she?” Malfoy asked hoarsely.

“Getting better – she’s remembering. It only took a combination of Memory Restoring Charms and a bit of talking. Most Healers could have done that.” Luna smiled and put on her mustard-coloured backpack. “Though I don’t think they’re as experienced with Griddlygooks.” She took Malfoy’s hand in both of hers and Malfoy let it happen. “I’m sorry it makes her sad.” 

Then she asked whether it was possible to visit the part of the gardens she’d admired from a distance and where she’d thought she’d spied Chivalrous Chrysanthemum. Malfoy showed her out and told her to mind the peacocks.

Once they were alone the silence grew heavy, but Harry didn’t want to speak. He didn’t know what to say anyway. Narcissa’s sobbing had ebbed away and slowly, the tension seemed to curl out from between Malfoy’s shoulders.

“I knew this woman was mad,” Malfoy said, his voice raw, “but she’s outdone herself.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured fondly. “She’s quite the piece of work.”

Malfoy took the metal box from the pocket of his black slacks and with a tilt of his head indicated the sitting room. It was a small gesture, but it chased away Harry’s worries; the ones that made him search for a reason to stay.

Knibbly brought coffee for Malfoy and green tea with vanilla for Harry, and today she even lit the fireplace. It was already cold outside, the world moving towards this indefinable lightness of winter and the smell of snow long before it came. Harry walked up to one of the huge windows and pulled the curtain aside. The Manor’s grounds stretched before him, dry and colourless, but the sight didn’t make him sad; he knew the earth was only going to sleep. Just like him, or Luna, or Malfoy and his mother, it had survived and kept going.

He felt Malfoy step up next to him, following his eyes. “You know,” he said, “disgusting as it is to be in your debt forever, I’m glad you got her help.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thank you, Potter.”

“You’re not in my debt, I chose to help her,” Harry replied. “Idiot. And you’re welcome.” 

From the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw Malfoy smile, but dared not turn his head.

“Does it make you angry, seeing it again?”

Harry pressed one of his palms against the windowpane and let the cold seep through his skin – he knew exactly what Malfoy was talking about, and that didn’t even surprise him.

“No,” he said. “I thought it would, but – it’s different being here. It has changed.” He pulled back his hand and saw it had smudged the glass. Just when he wanted to clean the stain away, it vanished and he felt Malfoy’s magic prickle down his spine like a well-known touch. “Er, thanks.”

“It hasn’t changed that much,” said Malfoy, still looking out on the faded grass and bare trees. 

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said and when Malfoy turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “No, really – I like winter.”

Malfoy looked back out. “It’s nicer when there’s snow.”

Harry felt something leap up within him, something warm and hopeful that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He turned to Malfoy, hooked his fingers into his pockets and tugged. Malfoy raised his familiar questioning eyebrow but let himself be pulled until their hips touched. There was nothing suggestive about it now, only the chill of winter and the warmth of another body, and Harry leaned in and watched Malfoy’s eyes fall shut before he kissed him.

The kiss was different from all the others they had shared – the frantic ones, desperate ones, the ones tasting of come or buried resentment. It was just the soft, wet sounds of their lips and tongues moving, the small caresses of Malfoy’s hands in Harry’s hair and Harry’s hands on the small of Malfoy’s back. Harry quietly hummed his approval at the feel of Malfoy’s not-quite-smooth jaw and pointy nose against his cheek. When he tilted his head, Malfoy deepened the kiss.

Harry pressed him closer and Malfoy wrapped his arms around his neck. He could feel every inch of Malfoy’s body, feel the warmth reach his groin and swirl between his legs, but this was not about getting off and he wanted to taste and savour it for as long as he –

“Thank you, Draco, it was really quite enthralling to – oh.”

They broke apart to find Luna standing in the doorway, a dreamy smile upon her face. She didn’t seem embarrassed in the least, surrounded by only her usual queer grace. “Sorry to disturb you. Give your mother my best, Draco.” She raised one hand for a small wave. “Bye, Harry. The pygmy plum pudding offer still stands, by the way.”

“Er – thanks, Luna.” Harry could feel himself blush to the roots of his hair. “I’ll Owl you.”

She smiled again at both of them. “Oh, and Draco? The peacocks are lovely, but they would like to have names.” She tilted her head. “You should give them some.” With that, she disappeared from view and moments later they heard the front door open and close again.

Malfoy looked at Harry, a grin tugging at his lips. “ _Pygmy plum pudding?_ ”

Harry bit his lip. “You shut up and name your peacocks.”

They held back for full two seconds before they broke into laughter, slumping against each other and shaking until Harry felt tears in the corners of his eyes.

 

 

Malfoy invited him to stay for dinner and after the second glass of wine, Harry thought the only thing in the world was Malfoy’s ankle against his own. He offered to clear the table – something Malfoy just rolled his eyes at – and a moment later found himself in Malfoy’s bedroom, still swaying from the pull of Apparition.

Harry looked around in the room, dizzy with the privacy of the act and intent on seeing as much of Malfoy as he could. The bed, unsurprisingly, was huge and covered with white sheets; by the foot Harry spied a pair of crumpled grey pyjama bottoms. The rest of the room was very sparsely arranged, holding nothing but a wardrobe, bedside table, a large desk, and a shelf so stuffed with books it would’ve impressed even Hermione. More books and folders were littered across the desk, giving the impression that Malfoy was doing some hard work in here, and Harry remembered that he still didn’t know how he earned his money. Well, he would find out eventually.

“You can snoop around another time,” Malfoy murmured in his ear, voice breathy and hands already crawling under Harry’s t-shirt. “I’m so hard, you have no idea.”

Harry made a pitiful sound and grabbed Malfoy’s face, kissing him hard. Then one of his hands went south to find out just how hard Malfoy was. The heat straining against Malfoy’s soft trousers made him ache with desire.

They fell on the bed and despite their equally insistent arousal, they took their time. Realising he had neglected this step last time, Harry took extra care of unbuttoning Malfoy’s shirt, bit by bit revealing his wiry body. His heart hammered in his throat when he saw the scars. 

As he reached out to touch the thickest of them – the one that intersected Malfoy’s chest from navel to collarbone – Malfoy caught his wrist.

“Potter,” he said quietly, “don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, but Malfoy shook his head.

“You’d better not be.”

Then Malfoy’s mouth was on his and he told Harry to fuck him in a voice that was both bossy and needy, and Harry stopped thinking.

He stayed at the Manor that night. After having sex with Malfoy three times in a row, this probably shouldn’t have felt odd, but he still lay awake for a long time and thought about how he’d ended up in this place, of all unlikely places. Harry also wondered what would become of Narcissa’s pearls and decided to mention a charity auction the next day. Those were always good to establish one’s respectability. 

Malfoy was sleeping beside him, Dark Mark peeking out from the sheets and his fair hair fanned out on the pillow. Harry watched him and thought of many things, but they all seemed long ago. 

 

++

 

The next morning, the light from outside had a different colour, and when Harry went to look, he saw the grounds were white and snow was still falling. With a silly smile plastered on his face, he got dressed and walked down the stairs.

Their door stood open, light streaming out into the corridor and drawing a fuzzy pattern on the tiles. Harry heard low voices and approached slowly.

Malfoy and Narcissa were standing by the window, two ethereal heads in the white, and Malfoy had his arm around his mother’s shoulders. Both of them were dressed in black and Narcissa had her long hair in a tight bun. The pearls were gone.

Harry stopped in the doorframe, but they’d heard him and turned around. Narcissa looked at him with tender awareness and Harry had a stupid thought about his bed hair. Then he met Malfoy’s eyes and smiled. After a moment, Malfoy smiled back.

“Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said and her voice was soft but firm. “Would you care to join us for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love that,” Harry replied, unable to hold back a grin. “And please call me Harry.”

Outside, the air was crisp and fresh, the crunching of snow the only sound as Harry made his way to the gate. 

 

_fin_


End file.
